


Changing tempo

by dd_123



Series: Interludes [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Explicit Consent, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Unapproved use of a training room, no beta we die like men, post Ch 19 of Family and Home and probably before Ch 20, this is the fault of the THC chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dd_123/pseuds/dd_123
Summary: An interlude set after Chapter 19 of LadyIrina's "Family and Home".A feint and a turn.  Din moves faster and his hands grab and twist in the fabric of Corin’s undershirt at his collarbone.  Corin’s hands automatically reach and grip Din’s wrists as he’s pulled forward, his chest bumping beskar plating as Din huffs a decidedly smug sound.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Interludes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663186
Comments: 19
Kudos: 126





	Changing tempo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).



Lift. Hold. Lower. Hold. Repeat.

Corin is halfway through his training routine when he hears the training room door slide open. He lowers and holds, looks up and breaks into a grin as he sees Din at the door. Lift. Hold. 

“Hey! I’m almost done here.” Lower. Hold.

Din leans back against a wall and waits for him. Corin closes his eyes and falls back into the rhythm of his work out. Lift. Hold. Lower. Hold. Repeat.

He starts as a gloved hand pushes against his stomach over the old blaster wound scar. How did he not hear Din approach?

“You’re still curling in a bit here.” The observation is followed with a brush of fingers.

Corin huffs a laugh and drops, wiping his hands on his pants. Steps back. “Yeah, I know, I’ll work on it.”

He heads to his water canteen and takes a long drink, then pulls off his sleeved shirt, rumples it into a ball and drops it to the floor. The cool air is welcome on his bare arms post work out.

“Where’s the kid?”

“With Paz. I’m sure I heard him say ‘weapon cache’ as they left. I don’t think I want to know.”

Corin does laugh at that. Paz is determined to outfit the kid. While the kid is still overly entranced with toys and shiny silver balls, Corin isn't optimistic about Paz's chance of success.

“You finished here?”

“Half done,” Corin replies. “Push-ups next.”

“Push-ups bore you.”

“What, you offering to spar again?”

“Sure.”

Corin blinks, and a grin spreads across his face. Din’s right. Push-ups do bore him. And this time Din is offering! Corin steps back and widens his arms in invitation.

Din gives an amused noise and in an echo of times past, starts removing his excess equipment. Corin notes he’s not carrying as much of his usual assortment and grins again. Sneaky! The Mandalorian had planned to fight.

This time, Din doesn’t waste their time with half-hearted jabs. This time, Corin is healed and ready. They begin.

Their movements are almost like a dance, the thud of their feet on the ground as they move sounding a strange rhythm. A step, a jab and a dodge. A twist and a push. The occasional laugh and easy banter pepper the routine, and Corin finds himself laughing as he revels in the fun of it all. He steps forward as Din does, manages to catch his pauldron with a jab causing him to stumble. One, two, three quick steps back, out of reach and into safety. Corin wipes his arm across his forehead and looks up.

Din steps forward, motions his hands in the universal symbol for “come on, then” and tilts his head. Corin laughs again, squares his shoulders then darts and moves fast.

A feint and a turn. Din moves faster and his hands grab and twist in the fabric of Corin’s undershirt at his collarbone. Corin’s hands automatically reach and grip Din’s wrists as he’s pulled forward, his chest bumping beskar plating as Din huffs a decidedly smug sound. 

One step, two steps, Corin backwards and Din forwards, and Corin’s back bumps against the wall. Din makes that smug noise again and takes a half step back, tilting his chin up with a slight jerk. Taunting! Corin smirks up into shining beskar. Oh, but Din is being too overconfident here! 

With quick, practised movements, Corin releases his hold on Din’s wrist, brings his arms up through between Din’s and breaks his hold. He grabs and twists, reversing their positions. One step and a push, Corin’s fingers curled over the edge of beskar plating and Din’s hands gripping his wrists, and Din breathes out an unintelligible noise as Corin presses him against the wall. Corin feels laughter bubble up through him and lets out a delighted chortle. He beams triumphantly, opens his mouth to speak, and the words still and lay forgotten on his tongue as he realises that Din isn’t moving, the sudden stillness as strange as it is just somewhat _maybe_ familiar, his hands holding a death grip on Corin’s wrists. Can feel him staring at him, even through the barrier of beskar and visor.

Their rhythm slows. The tempo changes.

Corin falters, long ingrained habits dropping his gaze, and he can feel the familiar threads of doubt coiling tendrils through his mind. Despite the words they’ve said and things that they’ve done, he doesn’t know this path, doesn’t know what’s allowed, doesn’t know how to walk it without tripping and messing everything up. He uncurls his fingers, releasing Din’s armour, moves to step back. Hands around his wrists tighten and he’s pulled forward impossibly closer. His head jerks up and he stares, startled, into Din’s visor.

“Corin.” His name is a gravelled plea and his heartbeat hammers in his ears.

Memories of a different training room on a different world flicker through his mind. The path clears. He makes his choice, decides his next step. Flexes his fingers, resuming his grip on the armour. Shifts his weight and slowly, so slowly and deliberately, pushes his thigh between Din’s legs.

The thump of the back of Din’s helmet hitting the wall is muffled by his strangled groan. His hands release Corin’s wrists and brush down Corin’s sides, settling on his hips and pulling him closer still.

Corin releases his held breath. Relief floods through him, and at the same time a lick of heat pools in his belly, spreading up and out as it burns the last tendrils of doubt turn to ash. _Same path_ , he reminds himself. _We’re on the same path._ He shifts. A shiver runs through him at the sound of Din’s sharp inhale. He moves again and the heat in his belly catches flame and ignites at the press of Din’s growing arousal against his thigh and the sound of uneven breaths. He smiles, completely unaware of what a dazzling light his expression is to the man he is flush against, and reaches up to grasp the sides of Din’s helmet, leans forward to gently bump his forehead against cool Beskar.

“This okay?”

A nod under his hands, Din’s thumbs pressing firm into muscle through his trousers, keeping him close. “Yeah. It’s okay.” Din’s voice is strained, but gentle.

A shift, a twitch and a groan. Corin’s hands fall from the helmet and settle on Din’s shoulders. Din’s head tilts forward to rest against Corin’s forehead.

“What…,” he starts, voice thick. Stops, and starts again. “What can I do?” His eyelids feel heavy, limbs feeling as though under water. He gives a small, experimental rock of his hips.

Din’s grip on his hips tightens almost harshly and releases immediately. The helmet thumps back against the wall again, a shuddering laugh sounds through the voice modulator. “Anything you want. You can do anything you want.”

Permission freely given, Corin hones in on his fixation. Loosens Din’s collar and pulls at the neck covering, exposing golden skin to air and his sight. Leans in to nuzzle, determined, as he mouths and kisses what has been unhidden. Din shudders, and the grip on his hips tightens again.

“Corin. Corin!” A nip of teeth turns his name into a yelp. Corin grins unseen into Din’s neck.

“Anything?”

Hands pull his hips to deliberately grind and both groan. Corin steals a final taste of that tempting, irresistible neck and steps back. Pushes Din lightly, back flush against the wall, and keeps eyes locked on Din’s t-visor as he lowers himself to one knee and then the second. He shuffles forward, sits back on his calves and rests his hands on beskar covered thighs in front of him. And waits.

There’s an almost imperceptible tremor to Din’s hand as he reaches to trail fingers down Corin’s cheek, his mouth, before tilting his chin up further.

“Are you sure?” Din’s tone is serious as he asks.

“You said anything,” Corin reminds him. They're on the same path, and paths walked together must be done so in harmony.

Din’s quiet laugh is a breath. “Alright.” Din hand drops back flat against the wall as Corin’s hand busies itself untying the front of Din’s pants to free him from his clothing. Wraps his fingers around the hard, heated flesh and swipes his thumb across the slickened head. Din’s hips jerk forward. Corin swipes his thumb again. Then moves to grip the base oh so carefully. Beneath his other hand, Din’s thigh shakes.

Corin breathes in, shuffles in even closer and swipes his tongue in a broad stroke along the underside.

“Corin, please!”

The desperate words are humbling. Corin wets his lips and grants mercy. He grips the motun'bur on Din’s thighs with both hands to steady himself and to pull Din just a little bit forward, and his eyelids flutter closed as he takes Din into his mouth. 

Corin’s world reduces to the most basic of elements. The slick, wet repeated slide of his mouth around Din’s length. The taste on his tongue. The burn in his thighs and the back of his neck as he holds himself tense while moving his rhythm. The sound of haggard breathing above him, and that feeling, that feeling, that heat pooling in his belly. The beskar under his hands warms and slides in his grip.

A hand cups the side of his head and fingers thread through his hair, stilling him after a time. Corin opens his eyes and looks up. Din is heavy on his tongue.

“You… Corin…” Din’s voice is fractured and the sound of it wraps around Corin, enveloping him.

Corin hums, pushes his tongue firm against the underside, and swallows.

Din’s other hand slaps hard against the wall. Fingers tighten sharply in Corin’s hair as Din swells and comes with a bitten back groan, flesh pulsing on Corin’s tongue. Corin’s eyes close again as he swallows once, twice, not spilling one single drop. His breathing is harsh through his nose as his heartbeat races, and he _aches_. The length in his mouth begins to soften and he releases it with a final roll of his tongue. 

The grip in his hair releases, and Din’s hand moves to Corin’s chin, tipping his head up gently once more. Corin squeezes his eyes tight and breathes with shallow pants. He's close and he _aches_. Din pulls back and Corin hears the quiet rustle of fabric as Din tucks himself away. And then Din is there, on the floor with him.

“C’mere. Come here, ner kar’ta.” Quiet murmurs as un-gloved hands pull him close, manoeuvre him and settle him against cool beskar. Corin moans and his hips jerk up as Din takes him in hand, surprisingly wet and smooth in his grip. His movements are practised, careful as he slowly strokes Corin to his gasping release. They lean on each other, limbs loose, as Corin’s heart returns to normal pace. Din’s thumb strokes gently on Corin’s neck all the while, up and down. Corin blinks to stay awake.

Air eventually cools sweat to an uncomfortable annoyance, and Corin gives a laugh of embarrassment as he realises he is still exposed. His sleeved shirt hits his chest, and he shoots a dirty look at Din who merely tilts his head. Giving a snort of annoyance, he cleans himself up as best he can and makes himself decent. He wrinkles his nose as he looks at the crumpled shirt in his hand. Kriff, he needs a refresher. Din’s fingers run through his hair again, lightly pushes his head forward with a playful gesture before moving to stand. 

“Come on. We should get out of here before someone tries to check on us,” Din remarks as he picks up his gloves, looks them over and appears to think twice about putting them back on again. He tucks both into one hand, reaching down with his other to help Corin up.

Corin laughs as he’s pulled to his feet. “It’s good luck then no-one came in.” He helps Din in collecting the last of their belongings from the room.

“I locked it,” is the dry reply, and in demonstration Din taps at the keypad to unlock the door. Corin peers around Din and inspects the hallway, his shoulders falling in relief as the hallway is clear. _Lessons learned_ , he thinks to himself as they walk side by side to their room.

**Author's Note:**

> I have great shame.


End file.
